2,000 Miles
by TangerineFields
Summary: Sirius promises to be home for Christmas. Remus is fed up with imagining the moment. RemusxSirius


A/N: Thank you very much to everyone who has been reading, reviewing and favouriting. A very Happy Christmas to all of you :)

Disclaimer: Remus and Sirius belong to Ms. J. K. Rowling, the headlines are based on the Radio 4 News at Ten, and KT Tunstall must be thanked for a wonderful rendition of 2,000 Miles.

**2,000 Miles**

"Motorists have been forced to abandon their cars when a lorry jack-knifed in Wigan. Although the motorway has now been cleared, the council warn that further disruption is expected. All British Airway flights between 10 o'clock and 5 o'clock today were cancelled, many MPs praising the decisive action taken by the airline company. The Iranian Prime Minister has…"

Remus sighed, and put down his glass, a few dregs of orange juice still lying at the bottom. Outside, the snow was still falling deceptively gently, coating the window ledge. On the radio, the clipped RP of the Muggle newsreader still surged on, and Remus caught a few, incomprehensible words about the cricket scores before tuning out again.

The door banged and Sirius' pounding on the mat to jettison the snow from his boots interrupted Remus' peace. He came struggling into the kitchen, shopping bags hanging from his arms, the snow still caught in his hair. His nose was adorably pink, and Remus had to smile at him.

"Gods, it's bad out there." Sirius shook himself as he dropped the bags onto the kitchen table. "Even the Ministry's bloody chaos."

"Did you get the salt?"

"Yeah," Sirius draped an arm around Remus' waist. "But I dunno why you want it. We're bloody wizards, Moons."

"The neighbours are getting suspicious. And I've turned the heating on."

"Why?" Sirius nuzzled his cool nose against Remus' neck, who leaned in despite the cold.

"Because Mrs Fletcher came round earlier and told me it was freezing, and I couldn't very well tell her about the warming charms, could I?"

Sirius sighed, and retired to one of the battered kitchen chairs. "She's only some little old Muggle woman, Rem, she's probably already forgotten who you are."

Remus busied himself with unpacking the shopping, and for a while, the only noise was the buzz of the radio and the bang of the cupboard doors. Sirius had grabbed the Daily Prophet and buried his nose in the back pages.

"Bagnold was on earlier."

Sirius tuned into the radio. "What? On this? This is your Muggle news."

"No, course she wasn't on this," Remus shook his head fondly. "She's suggesting a temporary restriction on Apparition."

"Why?" Sirius put down the paper, and then grinned. "Hasn't she got a license?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "She's good."

"She's not. She's gonna be a disaster."

"Says who?"

Sirius shrugged. "Shacklebolt doesn't like her."

"Not the point," Remus settled down into his chair, flicking the radio off with a discrete wave of his wand. "Apparently, splinching cases are rocketing with the winter weather."

Sirius snorted. "Always remember the three Ds," he muttered.

"Determination, Destination, Deliberation." Remus smiled fondly, remembering that spring, and Peter's elbow hanging in mid air in the middle of the Great Hall.

"Nah," Sirius grinned at him, "No Dancing with Dingleworth in Drag."

Remus coloured. "He was pretty convincing…"

Sirius let out a bark of a laugh, "Yeah, with bloody hairy legs and boobs on his hips, bloody convincing, Moons." He grinned, "Still, glad you fell for it. Best face you've pulled since Flitwick walked in on us and your box of Bertie Botts."

Remus rolled his eyes, flinching at little at the memory. Now that had been embarrassing. "Remind me how I shut you up?"

Sirius licked his lips, leaning forward. "Surely you haven't forgotten that, Moons."

Remus leant back, a smile playing on his lips. "You know I have a terrible memory."

"Liar," Sirius pounced, pinning Remus to the chair, the spokes grinding against his spine, and pressed his still frozen lips against the werewolf's.

As abruptly as it had started, the moment ended. Remus sighed, and picked up his glass again, swirling the dregs around in the bottom. The snow was still falling, but the chair that the whisper of Sirius had occupied was empty and the front door remained firmly shut, no chunks of snow littering the carpet, no overflow of shopping on the table.

He glanced over his shoulder, and watched the lights dance on the Christmas tree for a long moment. Sirius was gone, god knew where. For all it mattered, it could have been two thousand miles away.

He would not be home for Christmas. Remus knew that. That he had failed to resign himself to it was a different matter entirely.

Sirius had promised, of course. Had promised he would be home for Christmas but Sirius' promises were as dust on the wind. He discarded them as he shed winter coats. They were nice for people, kept them comfortable for a bit, but not really necessary when you were inside and it was warm. That he would be home was, for Sirius, a given, and the when was irrelevant.

For Remus, the when was everything.

He sighed again, and put the mug down with a clunk.

In the street, a group of carollers had stopped outside the window, and 'Angels from the Realms of Glory' was filling the air.

Remus shot them the filthy look they deserved and wandered into the living room. Sirius' neatly wrapped presents were glinting under the tree. New leather jacket and all. It wasn't the money that bothered him; it was the fact Sirius wasn't going to pitch up. He wasn't going to be there to open them when he should be there.

Remus sighed. Alone at Christmas. He thought Sirius was supposed to be the safeguard against that sort of thing.

"Rem?"

Remus jumped as Sirius' cold hand came down on his shoulder. A large pair of grey eyes were staring at him anxiously, lines forming in Sirius' brow. "You alright? You had your head in the clouds proper then, Moons."

Remus regarded this new, phantom Sirius suspiciously. He looked right, he smelt right, of cold and cigarettes and woody aftershave.

"I hate imagining you; you're always too bloody real."

Sirius cocked his head. "I told you your swearing turns me on, and the carollers are watching."

"Ah, but you're not really here, so it doesn't matter, does it?"

Sirius grinned wickedly. "So this is what I get for making it home for Christmas, verbal abuse and disbelief."

"You promised. You have a habit of breaking promises." Remus crossed his arms, but his resolve was waning. This Sirius certainly seemed real enough. Warm breath and a drop of melted snow running down the side of his face, navigating stubble.

"I take that personally." Sirius pouted. "I told you I'd be home for Christmas, and here I am."

"Only in my dreams," Remus murmured, "I've played this out too many times for you to be real."

Sirius smiled gently, and cupped Remus' cheeks in his cool hands. "Happy Christmas, anyway then Moony," he murmured, and pressed his lips to Remus' forehead. "And if I am a dream," he continued, kissing Remus' nose. "Then I can at least give you the best bloody shag of your life," he smiled a wicked smile and captured Remus' lips with his own. "But maybe," he added, as he pulled away and left Remus gasping. "You'd better close the curtains. I think Mrs Fletchers' watching."


End file.
